


The Beaten Path

by mightbeanasshole



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Camping, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/pseuds/mightbeanasshole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy and gentle exploration of what a casual camping trip in the Appalachians might be like with these two dumb nerd boyfriends. </p><p>"Gavin is predictably useless on a camping trip. Ryan hadn’t expected much, but he’d at least thought the man would’ve been able to pack his own clothes. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beaten Path

Ryan hopes that Roan Mountain in November will be the way he remembered it: clear and crisp.

The day starts early, Gavin napping quietly in the front seat as Ryan guides the Jeep to the trailhead. He’s only packed the essentials for them--just two nights of camping, after all, and they won’t go too far into the wilderness. The car ride is silent--the radio off--as he takes winding roads through early mist that’s yet to burn off, through endless stands of trees beginning to forfeit their leaves for the season--trunks almost shining with bark the color of wet earth, stark against the shockingly vivid leaves. Each mile deeper into the Appalachians, up the snaking, silent roads peels back a layer from Ryan’s buzzing consciousness as his mind grows stiller, purer, removed from the stresses of life in Austin, of work, of home.

There’s a simple pleasure in bringing Gavin here, in sharing the woods he remembers from a childhood of traveling.

\---

Gavin is predictably useless on a camping trip. Ryan hadn’t expected much, but he’d at least thought the man would’ve been able to pack his own clothes.

He’d begun to quiz Gavin as they took the short hike from the trailhead, searching for a nice flat camping site with a decent view. Each question makes Ryan more wary. He realizes, now, that he should have been _much more specific_ with Gavin about what to pack.

It’s late morning by the time they find a site that meets all of Ryan’s criteria. Gavin’s immediately taken a seat in a pile of dry leaves, beginning to paw through his backpack.

“You told me to pack warm,” Gavin complains. “You never said _how_ warm.”

“It’s in the teens overnight right now, Gavin!” Ryan scolds. “I thought you’d at least bring some gloves or, I don’t know, a hat?”

“Oh, and how was I to know it’s going to be in the teens?”

“Well Gavin, there are these incredible things online right now called _weather reports_ ,” Ryan says, arching an eyebrow. And then, after a moment: “You really only brought one extra pair of socks?”  
“I mean how much socks do you actually need for two nights,” Gavin says. “It’s not like I have sweaty feet. It’s cold, isn’t it.”

“How… much… socks. I. Ugh.” Ryan sighs. “I don’t think you understand the astounding amount of hand holding you require.”

“What, you don’t want to hold my hand, Ryan?”

“Maybe right now,” Ryan says. “But not once the sun sets. It’s going to be cold as a cadaver hand. I can barely deal with your cold hands in air conditioning.”

\---

The mountain is beautiful, Gavin has to admit. It looks like something out of some ridiculous postcard, or maybe something dreamed up by a graphic designer on too much caffeine, just wantonly photoshopping ridiculously bright foliage, utterly stunning rolling hills, and impossible creeks together in a way that only barely makes sense--all before putting it on, maybe, a package of pancake mix or something.

By midday it’s clear and sunny and he can’t understand why Ryan is so bent that he’s only packed a few sweaters and jeans.

The agreement had been that Ryan would take Gavin camping as long as Gavin stayed out of the way, didn’t get himself killed, and enjoyed himself. So he doesn’t see what the problem is with him not having enough, say, wooly pants and stupid hats.

“So,” he says, watching Ryan set up their tent. “Now that we’re here. What do people normally, you know. _Do_. When camping.”

Ryan is setting out a large tarp, staking it into the ground lightly at each corner.

“In my experience, they tend to drink a lot,” Ryan says. “There’s lots of cooking, if you’re camping with the right people. Maybe hiking during the day. Stargazing. Looking around, exploring.”

“So there’s not like, a… um. Goal, then?”

“Doing mostly nothing is the goal, I think,” Ryan says. “My goal at least.”

“Sounds boring,” Gavin says, trying to get a rise out of Ryan.

“You mean _relaxing_ , Gavin,” Ryan says, now unpacking the poles for the tent. “You should try it.”

And so Gavin does make an attempt to relax, taking off his jacket and propping himself against a hefty log to watch Ryan continue to set up. He has the tent up ridiculously fast, tossing Gavin’s small backpack and his own significantly larger pack into the tent.

Gavin helps him search for wood--kindling as well as larger, dried chunks--before retiring back to his log.

Ryan retrieves a long-handled axe from the tent and begins the intense work of splitting logs. Gavin’s mind had been wandering, idly pondering work, wondering what everyone else was doing back in the Texas heat, considering what he and Ryan would even do for the next two days, what they’d eat--but his mind comes back into sharp focus with the first hollow THWACK of the axe into a hunk of wood.

The explosive power startles Gavin, Ryan’s ability to launch from stillness, to mobilize what seemed like every muscle in his body as he neatly brings the axe over his shoulder, swiping it down in a conservative arc. He watches in awe as Ryan strikes the wood with accuracy, hitting the same spot in the log twice, three times, four, five, until it splits with a small noise, splintering apart in two nice chunks.

Ryan circles the two smaller chunks, his back now to Gavin, picking one of them up and standing it on its end. He goes to work splitting the smaller piece. Gavin watches him, rapt, admiring the way his muscles in his arms and back snake under the dark blue material of his shirt, the practiced movement so powerful yet so precise, each wind up efficient.

It’s the type of thing you forget--or never get to notice in the first place--when you spend most of your time working with someone in an office. Especially when the heaviest thing to lift is normally a console controller or a bin of trash.

Gavin lets Ryan continue through six more logs before he finally breaks the man’s silent rhythm. Ryan’s breathing hard now--sweating too, despite the dropping temperatures.

“Damned good at that,” Gavin says, smiling. “Almost frightening.”

“The consequence of a lifetime of chores,” Ryan says, turning to look at Gavin. It’s the warmest smile Gavin’s seen on his face all day, breaking wide and white across his face as he wipes a sleeve across his forehead.

“It feels good sometimes,” Ryan admits, “to remember that I’m good for something other than catchphrases and troubleshooting glitches.”

“Aw Ryan!” Gavin says. “You’re good for a lot more than that.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that, tipping the head of the axe to the ground and crossing his arms across his broad chest.

 _He always does that_ , Gavin thinks, wondering if the man has any idea what an effect the stance had on Gavin, if he did it on purpose just to toy with him.

\---

The sun is already setting at five. If Gavin had thought the scenery during the day had been over the top, then he certainly wasn’t prepared for the view at sunset--the astounding layers of warm colors in the atmosphere broken only by the foreground of gently rolling mountainsides in greens, blues, grays.

Ryan made them climb a ways to a good lookout point, insisting that Gavin put on a jacket even though he wasn’t cold yet.

“It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen, Ryan,” Gavin says, not a hint of irony in his voice. Ryan steals a look at him, the last rays of warm sunlight making Gavin’s already tawny skin look golden. Ryan sneaks a hand around Gavin’s hip, pulling him closer, venturing a moment of tenderness. Gavin leans into him after a moment.

“Sunset is what I remembered the most,” Ryan says.

And as the sun descends, the warmth begins to evaporate. The sun disappears behind the Appalachians and the sky goes crimson in its absence, then maroon, and finally the deep purple of dusk.

“Let’s get back before it’s too dark,” Ryan says, even though his eyes are already adjusting. Gavin’s cold hand finds his in the dim light and Ryan smiles.

\---

An hour later, Gavin is thoroughly cold--although not ready to admit it. Ryan is busy at the campfire preparing something that he calls, frighteningly, “Hobo Stew” in a heavy cast iron skillet. He’s produced all manner of cooking utensils which nest into one another and Gavin is beginning to wonder what sort of magic powers the man must possess in order to cram so many items into his pack.  

But the stew is, as it turns out, delicious. A thick gravy, chunks of lean beef and perfectly cooked cubes of chicken along with sweet carrots and tender potatoes.

Flashlight in hand, Gavin climbs into the tent seeking more layers. He’s not ready to admit defeat yet, but he does wish that he had a hat.

Maybe some gloves.

Perhaps a second pair of socks to put on.

He exhausts his own supplies, pulling two shirts over his skinny shoulders, and then finally decides to look through what Ryan has. He won’t get it dirty, after all. He just needs some more layers. He fishes a heavy wool sweater out of the bottom of Ryan’s pack, a very serious looking garment like something out of a 1970s wilderness documentary, and pulls it on. It’s immediately much warmer than anything he’s packed, and it’s big enough that he can pull the sleeves out over his hands.

When he emerges from the tent, Ryan is tending something else at the fire. Gavin creeps back to the mat where they’d been sitting to eat and watches Ryan as he stirs something intently.

He’s beginning to understand--maybe--the appeal of doing nothing while camping. The forest around them sways and rustles gently, the fire active and rushing, the loudest thing in the vicinity, and Gavin becomes almost hypnotized watching the flames lick upwards into sparks, the sparks spiral up into light embers that go ever higher before disappearing.

Eventually Ryan is satisfied with whatever he’s been cooking and he splits the contents of a saucepan between two tin mugs with bent handles, pressing one into Gavin’s hands. The mug is hot to the touch and Gavin appreciately cups it with his hands. He takes a deep whiff of the contents.

“Hot chocolate, Ryan?” Ryan smiles wide and nods.

“You can’t camp in the cold without it,” Ryan says. “Pretty sure there’s a law somewhere.”

And then, from his pocket, Ryan produces a metal flask, unscrews the top, and holds it out to Gavin. He takes a deep whiff of this as well.

“Fireball, Ryan? For me?” Ryan nods again.

“Not that I’d know, but I’ve heard it’s great in hot chocolate. I mean, I hear shining endorsements all around.”

“You’re top,” Gavin says, pouring a generous shot into the drink before handing the flask back to Ryan.

He waits a moment for the steaming liquid to cool enough not to burn his mouth before taking a tentative sip.

It’s rich and warm and heaven, burning on the way down but warming him from the inside out.

“Is… is that my sweater?” Ryan says, cutting his eyes at Gavin.

“No.”

Ryan frowns.

“So. You secretly brought a wool sweater that doesn’t fit you and is identical to mine.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone, Ryan.”

Ryan sighs, apparently deciding to let it go and taking a deep pull from his own unspiked cocoa. Gavin wants to gulp his--it’s delicious--but he can already feel the tendrils of a whiskey buzz reaching out into the corners of his brain.

“You like yours?” Ryan asks.

“It’s lovely,” Gavin says.

“I did good?”   
“As always,” Gavin says. And he leans in then, the two of them smiling into a gentle kiss.

\---

By the time they’ve retired to the tent, Ryan knows that Gavin must be cold. Their camping pads are stiff and Ryan realizes how little insulation they’re going to provide, how cold their sleeping quarters will be by morning for Gavin without any sort of long underwear. He insists that Gavin pull on a pair of his wool socks, a pair of his sweatpants--both of which are hilariously oversized on Gavin’s underfed frame.

Gavin catches him smirking.

“You’re the one making me put it all on,” Gavin says, pouting. “You can’t make fun of me.”

“I can do what I want,” Ryan says. “You’re the one who packed like we were going for a day at the beach.”

“Just thought you’d keep me warm, is all,” Gavin says, feigning hurt.   
“That’s all fun and games until I’m warm and asleep at 4 a.m. and you’re wide awake putting your ice hands down my pants.”  

“Hm,” Gavin says. “Fair enough.”

It’ll be close quarters, but Ryan decides to zip their sleeping bags together. He’s tried it before and it’s never terribly comfortable to share a sleeping bag with someone, but he knows Gavin will be freezing despite the layers he’s added. Cold nights camping start out OK but when you stop moving, when your heart slows down, it’s easy to wake up uncomfortable and chilled, Ryan thinks.

Ryan shimmies into the shared sleeping bag first, pressing his back up against the seam to make room for Gavin to join him.

He’s torn between protecting his crotch and his face as Gavin gracelessly stuffs himself into the bag, arms akimbo as he snakes himself in. In the end, Ryan takes an elbow to the belly.

“Sorry Ryan,” Gavin says.

“Hm, no harm done.”

Ryan loses no time when Gavin is fully enveloped in the sleeping bag, grabbing the smaller man by the hip, guiding him to face Ryan.

\---

Gavin smiles, letting out an appreciative breath as Ryan’s warm hand strokes up and down his side before finally pulling him to rest against the length of the larger man’s body. Gavin lays a hand across Ryan’s waist, tucking himself into his chest, and the man hums deeply. It is a gentle and content feeling, and although the proximity, the insistent touch incites the beginning of arousal, there’s no hot hunger pressing their momentum forward tonight. He is content in that moment to appreciate the closeness, to consider this new secret knowledge of Ryan that he’s been given, what the man is outside of the office, outside of the city.

“Thank you for taking me camping, Ryan,” Gavin says, already close to sleep.  
“Yeah?” Ryan says softly. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written for Gavin and Ryan before, so any feedback is appreciated! Also I admit it would not be this cold at Roan Mountain in November but... shhh. Just go with it.


End file.
